And God Spoke...

Disclaimer: This is a story of a journey; not a jaunt. It will take some time to read as it took quite a while to write. I encourage you to read it in parts over several different periods of time.

It began 38 days ago. 

My church was doing a series on being generous livers. Not the organ. Living in a generous way with our time, money, and talents. We ended the first Sunday with the song, "Lord prepare me to be a sanctuary." My first reaction to this song was ridicule. People still sing this song? As an artist, the pride of your own musical tastes can sometimes get the better of you in worship. As such, I was determined not to sing this song. But that line. That haunting line... 

with Thanksgiving, I'll be a living, sanctuary for you

God's spirit began whispering to me, "Jenny, you are called to be a living sanctuary. Tried and true. A temple.  A place where I dwell. This will require sacrifice. You will be a living sanctuary." 

The words made my stomach churn; the chorus droned on and on. 

Living sanctuary? No thank you. I'm a mom now, a wife, a daughter, sister, friend, a lover, thinker, reader, runner, oh, and I have this little band that runs me ragged all over the country ministering to people... my plate is full. I'm not terribly interested in being a living sacrifice. I've sacrificed enough. I'm ready for things to be easy. 

On Sacrifice...

It's quite hard to say, as an affluent American, that I have sacrificed much at all. Compared to the rest of the world... those who sacrifice their safety in order to worship the Lord, those who bear burdens of poverty, injustice, terror, disease without medicine, and living in a constant state of fear. These burdens and sacrifices, chosen or not, make my burdens seem very small and insignificant. 

Still, they are my burdens. Small or not, for me, they are real. 

And our burden is money. For eight years we have made music, led people in worship, and used our platform to spend as much time with people in a ministry capacity as possible. What happens offstage is far more important than what happens on stage; this is our ministry, our calling. We have lived this divinely inspired journey for eight years. And for eight years it has been hard to pay the bills, for eight years we have worried about money.  

It was to be expected in the beginning. Out of college with massive school loans and all the other monthly bills required to live. We were only doing small shows, for small crowds, in small towns; not exactly rolling in the dough. But now we are on the radio, playing arenas, and well past our college years. Yet, financially, nothing has changed. 

There is still the dread upon receiving every monthly bill. The drop in the stomach when I know we need more trash bags, toilet paper, or gasoline. And don't get me started on baby hospital bills; let's just say for the price of that room I should've been laying in gold sheets with a beautiful harem of men fanning me while feeding me grapes and wild figs and painting my toenails.  There is the lustful longing to buy a house, or a car that doesn't bear the title, "Jenny's high school car that vibrates and is entirely unsafe for a baby." And back to those monthly bills... TXU energy you are my 100 degree summer arch nemesis!

Mainly, it is the physical and emotional energy it takes out of Ryan and I. It's not a matter of budgeting, it's a matter of the money just not being there... and the constant angst of trusting that God will provide; or that we might win the lottery; or that we will stumble upon someone rich who writes us into their... all of these are so very tiring. 

So choosing to do music, lead worship, pour into people's lives who e-mail or wait around after shows to talk and ask for prayer, traveling night after night because we know that God uses our music to make His name known and to bring hope and joy to the weary; investing weeks every summer into students and churches at camp; even writing so transparently in this blog; choosing to follow where God has so clearly called Ryan and I... it is not glamorous.  It is a sacrifice. 

And while I love what we do and the rich connections we are able to make with people on their  journeys, I am quite simply tired of worrying about money. It's exhausting. And I'm exhausted. 

I'm Over it. 

So for the first time ever Ryan and I began having the "what-if" conversations. 

What if we get real jobs? What if we quit? What if we didn't have to worry about money? What if we collectively made $25,000 a year??? How awesome would that be?!? 

What if we move on? Take care of ourselves. Get real jobs. Finally start saving money. Start a 401 K. Go on a vacation. Be real adults with real careers that make real money. This idea, while terrifying because of its foreign and outlandish probability, still consumed much of my brain during the month of June. 

God... thanks but no thanks. We've made a nice little run of it but we are tired. We are tired of relying on other people to support us in our ministry and help pay our bills. We are tired of the stress. The battle. The consumed energy. You know. 

And he does. He gets it. He knows. He knows we are tired. He knows the struggle. 

You know Lord, we're just sort of over it. Find someone else please. Let us just be normal. And free. 

Freedom

And freedom, oddly enough, is what he set out to give us.

Only, not on our own terms. 

Brave Words

So I literally fought the Lord all month. Pointed fingers. Begged. Pity partied. And schemed my way into a new career path. 

And on July 3rd, like God showing up to address his accuser at the end of the book of Job, He showed up at our pastor's house.  

We accidentally came a night early for the 4th of July party, yeah,  don't ask me how we got that confused. But there we were, ash white baby whose over-protective mother had triple lathered her up in sunscreen; red, white and blue cake; cooler; swimsuits on; and, of course, right on time with big dorky grins on our face; they answered the door laughing. The house was empty.

We went and got Thai food instead and spent the rest of the evening at the house talking and laughing. 

I told Jackie, our women's pastor, that I was tired of money problems. A lament she and her husband have often heard from Ryan and I.  A journey they have helped us walk through. 

This time though, compassion was not her strong suit. 

Jenny, have you ever considered the fact that this might be the burden you will always bare? That perhaps this is the thorn in your side? The sacrifice you and Ryan and your family will make for being in the ministry? That you will never have money? That you will always have to rely on God's faithfulness and his provision alone to pay the bills?  That you will follow in the footsteps of your parents and Ryan's parents who always sacrificed money for ministry? What if this never goes away? Then what? 

Is it wrong to have a desire to hit your pastor? 

NO. Actually. That thought had never crossed my mind! Not once. Dear God. There is no way this is God's plan for our future. Please, please, please. It can't be. 

Instantly, I was in fight mode. The words of that song, living sanctuary, began to play themselves over and over again in my mind. A haunting image of an elderly version of myself on a fixed income calling my dead parents in heaven to ask them to send money so I could get the oil changed and buy a new pair of dentures popped into my head. Surely not, Lord. Surely not. 

We drove home in a weird silence. It had never occurred to us that this burden might not ever be lifted. That this might be our sacrifice, the cross we pick up and carry in order to serve the Lord. No, lack of finances is a temporary setback; depending on our church body and friends from across the country and the Lord's faithfulness to help us make ends meet each month will be fleeting... not forever. This is no way to live.  It can't be. 

Confirmation

Four days later we found ourselves in Ridgecrest, North Carolina for a week of FUGE camp. Every morning after worship we make our way into a local coffee shop for breakfast and conversation. It's a band tradition. We talk about funny stuff and eventually get down to matters of the heart. Except, on this day, it was all funny. The guys were ready to leave but I felt the urge to stay... no, we have to talk about something deep or serious! Someone come up with a problem!  A prayer request! An issue. But all was quiet. So I spoke up hoping to incite the spiritual conversation that would really touch someone else's heart that morning. 

Pray for me and Ryan. We're tired of being tired over money. I keep thinking I should just quit and get a real job to provide for Annie better. Etc. Etc. Etc. No mention of what our pastors had said. Not one word. 

And then, in a moment I will never forget, Travis beaus up,  I mean physically, you see something come over him (it sort of reminded me of Aslan roaring onto the scene in The Chronicles of Narnia) and he opened his mouth to speak words that were not his. 

Jenny, do you have any idea how stupid you just sounded to God? How silly it is for you to say that you are going to quit your calling so you can get a job and make money so that you can provide for Anniston... God's daughter?  Don't you know he provides for her long before you do? Don't you know how silly it sounds to the creator of the universe that little you is going to go out into the world and take care of yourself? Who are you to say what God will do or will not do as he provides for your family? It's like you don't even believe the words to your own song on the radio... what do you know of Holy, Jenny? How can you decide that you will provide for yourself and abandon what God has called you to do? Who gave you the privilege?

And then, word for word, I kid you not...

Has it ever occurred to you that you might not ever have money? That you might not ever be able to pay your bills? That this might be the thing in your life that you sacrifice in order to serve the Lord?  That you might always have to depend on God alone to provide for your family? 

And word for word he said verbatim what my pastor said. Word for stinking word. 

The four of us were silent as we listened to Travis' thirty minute Holy Spirit rant. Travis was not speaking, that was clear to everyone... but if only they knew what Ryan and I did... that Travis was speaking the same exact words that we had unwillingly heard just days before. 

Free

We only thought the first car ride home was weirdly silent. This was bizarre. Ryan finally spoke. 

Did you tell him? 

NO. Did you? 

NO. 

Well, crap, how did he know to say that? 

Of course, we knew the answer. And it's moments like that that you must believe in the realness of God and the Holy Spirit. Giving someone the good news that yes, they will always be poor, is not really popular conversation between friends. It's not commonly spoken of. And it takes guts to say that to a friend, "Hey Buddy, get over it, you're always going to be broke, it's your sacrifice... sucks for you!" Guts or the Holy Spirit or both. It was not a coincidence that they spoke the same exact words because it was not them speaking. God's spirit literally spoke his words to us through them. Sounds crazy, huh? But there really is no other explanation. 

Ryan said he felt free. Without delving into all of his personal stuff, let's just say, he needed freedom. 

It was that simple for him. If this it, this is our sacrifice, our burden, if I really can't fix this no matter how hard I try and if we are really just supposed to trust that the Lord will give us exactly what we need, well, then, that makes me free. Now I can let God deal with it. 

And he, the man who so tightly grips things in his own hands, literally just opened them up. You could see it on his face. You could even feel it in the car. It swept over him. Freedom. 

No Thank You

Not me. I was happy for his freedom, deeply grateful actually, but God, don't think you can just pull one over on me like that. That's tacky. Real tacky. 

I'm not giving up on my financial dreams that easily. No way. I fully intend to take care of myself, however I  must do that. 

I felt like Jacob, the guy in the Old Testament who literally gets in a fist fight with God. He fights and fights all through the night and leaves the battlefield with a broken leg in the morning. 

That's me. If you're bringing me somewhere new, asking me to sacrifice, asking me to trust, you are going to do so with me kicking and screaming. 

And it's really quite classy of God to be so gracious. He ought to just give up on me or slap me silly for my attitude problem or leave me to my own devices... but he doesn't. He lovingly pursues me, the one lost, stupid little sheep. He allows me to fight with Him, puts up with my kicking and screaming, pushes back, and patiently waits it out with me. 

It's like Annie fighting to not fall asleep. While I am rocking she will cry, kick, squirm, head butt me, doze off, then snap back awake and do it all over again. Still, I hold her firmly and lovingly in my arms. Eventually, she exhausts herself and passes out. Still, I am there holding her.  And when she wakes up in the morning with her squirrely arms flailing, matted down hair, little eye buggers, and that look that says, "we were not friends last night... " I am there smiling, waiting for her first big grin of the day. 

We all fight. 

Ye of Little Faith

I believe God has a special reserve of energy for people like me. The, Ye of Little Faith, people. 

He does not have to prove himself, but he does. He does not have to communicate in ten million different ways to get our attention, but he does. He certainly doesn't owe me anything, but sometimes he treats me as if He is willing to give me all the love he has and then some. 

Back at camp, day two, the pastor asks us to come out on stage at the end of his message. This is normal. Asking us, in front of 1700 people, to not play music but rather to come and kneel at the front of the stage... that is not normal. 

And what do you know, he said, "I don't think you guys know what a sacrifice it is for these five people on the stage to do what it is that the Lord has called them to do."

There's that word again. I shouldn't have been shocked, but I was. 

"They don't make a lot of money, they often struggle to pay the bills, they go from city to city, hotel to hotel, and now they do that with a little baby and as most moms will tell you, there is always a fair amount of guilt involved when you bring your baby into your craziness." 

He continued explaining, word for word, why what we did was a sacrifice. He names every single thing I had lamented to the Lord, my pastors, my parents, and my husband over the past month. And he finished with saying, "Today I feel compelled to encourage them. To remind them to keep going. To remind them that the Lord has placed a calling on their lives and that He is using them to make his name known."

Then 1700 people prayed with him that we would continue to trust God and follow him where he leads. That we would be renewed and taken care of. That we would be reminded that we were not working in vein. 

That was enough. I was convinced. 

But God wasn't done.

Three more examples.

Very quickly, I must add, that the Lord spoke the same thing to me three more times. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. God's love is never lacking. He lavishes it on us abundantly. He didn't give me just enough of his love, he gave me every ounce of it. More than I needed. This was no longer about money, this was his love story for me. He cared enough to let me fight with him, to let me kick and scream, and to hold me all the way through until, exhausted, I collapsed into his arms. And when I awoke, he gently whispered, I'm not through holding you yet. Let me show you more love. And more. And more. And more. And more. 

This was his love story for me. 

*In a radio interview later that morning one of the DJ's said she wanted to read a passage of scripture over me that the Lord laid on her heart. 

Of course He did. 

And for the life of me I can't remember what part of Psalms she pulled it from, but it basically said your sacrifice is not in vein, your work for the Lord makes his name known to the nations, so be renewed in your spirit, etc, etc, etc. Need I go on?

*A man came up to me and said he brought a purse to camp because he knew God was going to lay it on his heart to give it to someone. It was made by a ministry overseas in India and he wanted to support the ministry but didn't have a daughter to give the purse to. My purse has holes in it. I've been putting off buying one for months now. God laid it on his heart to give me this brand new quilted clutch. What's more... it looks exactly like me. I couldn't have designed it better myself. A purse. Really? My most specific, petty of needs was provided for? 

Of course it was. 

*The next day the pastor changed his message right before the service, because, he was prompted by God to do so.   

Of course he was. 

I try and read the passage that a speaker will be using during their message, so without thinking I picked up my Bible in between songs and read the new chapter. Psalms 23. So basic that I stopped reading that one in about the seventh grade, I guess it had been years since I had uttered these words out loud. 

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. 

My stomach dropped. I thought I would cry right there on the spot. I wasn't even sure I could finish reading because that one line, there it was, my hearts deepest prayer quietly breaking free from the part of me that was desperately clinging on to the last threads of myself. 

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. I shall not want. Jenny, you shall not want. 

I said it again on stage. And again. And with tears streaming down my face, this tired little girl finally opened up her hands and, exhausted, fell into the arms of God. 

And 

and he was there. 

Do I relish sacrifice? No. Not yet. But I do rejoice in a God who is so very real that he would speak the same exact message to me not once, twice, or three times, but six times in one week.  I rejoice in a God who loves me that much, who knows me that intimately, and who fights for me and with me so that ultimately, I will be refined, more beautiful, and grown up in Him. 

So bring it on. 

Because I am ready to trust now that God and God alone will provide for us. 

Ours will be a testimony of God's abundant faithfulness.

And I, his dearly loved daughter, will give him all the glory, honor, and praise. 

  

   

And God Spoke...

Disclaimer: This is a story of a journey; not a jaunt. It will take some time to read as it took quite a while to write. I encourage you to read it in parts over several different periods of time.

It began 38 days ago. 

My church was doing a series on being generous livers. Not the organ. Living in a generous way with our time, money, and talents. We ended the first Sunday with the song, "Lord prepare me to be a sanctuary." My first reaction to this song was ridicule. People still sing this song? As an artist, the pride of your own musical tastes can sometimes get the better of you in worship. As such, I was determined not to sing this song. But that line. That haunting line... 

with Thanksgiving, I'll be a living, sanctuary for you

God's spirit began whispering to me, "Jenny, you are called to be a living sanctuary. Tried and true. A temple.  A place where I dwell. This will require sacrifice. You will be a living sanctuary." 

The words made my stomach churn; the chorus droned on and on. 

Living sanctuary? No thank you. I'm a mom now, a wife, a daughter, sister, friend, a lover, thinker, reader, runner, oh, and I have this little band that runs me ragged all over the country ministering to people... my plate is full. I'm not terribly interested in being a living sacrifice. I've sacrificed enough. I'm ready for things to be easy. 

On Sacrifice...

It's quite hard to say, as an affluent American, that I have sacrificed much at all. Compared to the rest of the world... those who sacrifice their safety in order to worship the Lord, those who bear burdens of poverty, injustice, terror, disease without medicine, and living in a constant state of fear. These burdens and sacrifices, chosen or not, make my burdens seem very small and insignificant. 

Still, they are my burdens. Small or not, for me, they are real. 

And our burden is money. For eight years we have made music, led people in worship, and used our platform to spend as much time with people in a ministry capacity as possible. What happens offstage is far more important than what happens on stage; this is our ministry, our calling. We have lived this divinely inspired journey for eight years. And for eight years it has been hard to pay the bills, for eight years we have worried about money.  

It was to be expected in the beginning. Out of college with massive school loans and all the other monthly bills required to live. We were only doing small shows, for small crowds, in small towns; not exactly rolling in the dough. But now we are on the radio, playing arenas, and well past our college years. Yet, financially, nothing has changed. 

There is still the dread upon receiving every monthly bill. The drop in the stomach when I know we need more trash bags, toilet paper, or gasoline. And don't get me started on baby hospital bills; let's just say for the price of that room I should've been laying in gold sheets with a beautiful harem of men fanning me while feeding me grapes and wild figs and painting my toenails.  There is the lustful longing to buy a house, or a car that doesn't bear the title, "Jenny's high school car that vibrates and is entirely unsafe for a baby." And back to those monthly bills... TXU energy you are my 100 degree summer arch nemesis!

Mainly, it is the physical and emotional energy it takes out of Ryan and I. It's not a matter of budgeting, it's a matter of the money just not being there... and the constant angst of trusting that God will provide; or that we might win the lottery; or that we will stumble upon someone rich who writes us into their... all of these are so very tiring. 

So choosing to do music, lead worship, pour into people's lives who e-mail or wait around after shows to talk and ask for prayer, traveling night after night because we know that God uses our music to make His name known and to bring hope and joy to the weary; investing weeks every summer into students and churches at camp; even writing so transparently in this blog; choosing to follow where God has so clearly called Ryan and I... it is not glamorous.  It is a sacrifice. 

And while I love what we do and the rich connections we are able to make with people on their  journeys, I am quite simply tired of worrying about money. It's exhausting. And I'm exhausted. 

I'm Over it. 

So for the first time ever Ryan and I began having the "what-if" conversations. 

What if we get real jobs? What if we quit? What if we didn't have to worry about money? What if we collectively made $25,000 a year??? How awesome would that be?!? 

What if we move on? Take care of ourselves. Get real jobs. Finally start saving money. Start a 401 K. Go on a vacation. Be real adults with real careers that make real money. This idea, while terrifying because of its foreign and outlandish probability, still consumed much of my brain during the month of June. 

God... thanks but no thanks. We've made a nice little run of it but we are tired. We are tired of relying on other people to support us in our ministry and help pay our bills. We are tired of the stress. The battle. The consumed energy. You know. 

And he does. He gets it. He knows. He knows we are tired. He knows the struggle. 

You know Lord, we're just sort of over it. Find someone else please. Let us just be normal. And free. 

Freedom

And freedom, oddly enough, is what he set out to give us.

Only, not on our own terms. 

Brave Words

So I literally fought the Lord all month. Pointed fingers. Begged. Pity partied. And schemed my way into a new career path. 

And on July 3rd, like God showing up to address his accuser at the end of the book of Job, He showed up at our pastor's house.  

We accidentally came a night early for the 4th of July party, yeah,  don't ask me how we got that confused. But there we were, ash white baby whose over-protective mother had triple lathered her up in sunscreen; red, white and blue cake; cooler; swimsuits on; and, of course, right on time with big dorky grins on our face; they answered the door laughing. The house was empty.

We went and got Thai food instead and spent the rest of the evening at the house talking and laughing. 

I told Jackie, our women's pastor, that I was tired of money problems. A lament she and her husband have often heard from Ryan and I.  A journey they have helped us walk through. 

This time though, compassion was not her strong suit. 

Jenny, have you ever considered the fact that this might be the burden you will always bare? That perhaps this is the thorn in your side? The sacrifice you and Ryan and your family will make for being in the ministry? That you will never have money? That you will always have to rely on God's faithfulness and his provision alone to pay the bills?  That you will follow in the footsteps of your parents and Ryan's parents who always sacrificed money for ministry? What if this never goes away? Then what? 

Is it wrong to have a desire to hit your pastor? 

NO. Actually. That thought had never crossed my mind! Not once. Dear God. There is no way this is God's plan for our future. Please, please, please. It can't be. 

Instantly, I was in fight mode. The words of that song, living sanctuary, began to play themselves over and over again in my mind. A haunting image of an elderly version of myself on a fixed income calling my dead parents in heaven to ask them to send money so I could get the oil changed and buy a new pair of dentures popped into my head. Surely not, Lord. Surely not. 

We drove home in a weird silence. It had never occurred to us that this burden might not ever be lifted. That this might be our sacrifice, the cross we pick up and carry in order to serve the Lord. No, lack of finances is a temporary setback; depending on our church body and friends from across the country and the Lord's faithfulness to help us make ends meet each month will be fleeting... not forever. This is no way to live.  It can't be. 

Confirmation

Four days later we found ourselves in Ridgecrest, North Carolina for a week of FUGE camp. Every morning after worship we make our way into a local coffee shop for breakfast and conversation. It's a band tradition. We talk about funny stuff and eventually get down to matters of the heart. Except, on this day, it was all funny. The guys were ready to leave but I felt the urge to stay... no, we have to talk about something deep or serious! Someone come up with a problem!  A prayer request! An issue. But all was quiet. So I spoke up hoping to incite the spiritual conversation that would really touch someone else's heart that morning. 

Pray for me and Ryan. We're tired of being tired over money. I keep thinking I should just quit and get a real job to provide for Annie better. Etc. Etc. Etc. No mention of what our pastors had said. Not one word. 

And then, in a moment I will never forget, Travis beaus up,  I mean physically, you see something come over him (it sort of reminded me of Aslan roaring onto the scene in The Chronicles of Narnia) and he opened his mouth to speak words that were not his. 

Jenny, do you have any idea how stupid you just sounded to God? How silly it is for you to say that you are going to quit your calling so you can get a job and make money so that you can provide for Anniston... God's daughter?  Don't you know he provides for her long before you do? Don't you know how silly it sounds to the creator of the universe that little you is going to go out into the world and take care of yourself? Who are you to say what God will do or will not do as he provides for your family? It's like you don't even believe the words to your own song on the radio... what do you know of Holy, Jenny? How can you decide that you will provide for yourself and abandon what God has called you to do? Who gave you the privilege?

And then, word for word, I kid you not...

Has it ever occurred to you that you might not ever have money? That you might not ever be able to pay your bills? That this might be the thing in your life that you sacrifice in order to serve the Lord?  That you might always have to depend on God alone to provide for your family? 

And word for word he said verbatim what my pastor said. Word for stinking word. 

The four of us were silent as we listened to Travis' thirty minute Holy Spirit rant. Travis was not speaking, that was clear to everyone... but if only they knew what Ryan and I did... that Travis was speaking the same exact words that we had unwillingly heard just days before. 

Free

We only thought the first car ride home was weirdly silent. This was bizarre. Ryan finally spoke. 

Did you tell him? 

NO. Did you? 

NO. 

Well, crap, how did he know to say that? 

Of course, we knew the answer. And it's moments like that that you must believe in the realness of God and the Holy Spirit. Giving someone the good news that yes, they will always be poor, is not really popular conversation between friends. It's not commonly spoken of. And it takes guts to say that to a friend, "Hey Buddy, get over it, you're always going to be broke, it's your sacrifice... sucks for you!" Guts or the Holy Spirit or both. It was not a coincidence that they spoke the same exact words because it was not them speaking. God's spirit literally spoke his words to us through them. Sounds crazy, huh? But there really is no other explanation. 

Ryan said he felt free. Without delving into all of his personal stuff, let's just say, he needed freedom. 

It was that simple for him. If this it, this is our sacrifice, our burden, if I really can't fix this no matter how hard I try and if we are really just supposed to trust that the Lord will give us exactly what we need, well, then, that makes me free. Now I can let God deal with it. 

And he, the man who so tightly grips things in his own hands, literally just opened them up. You could see it on his face. You could even feel it in the car. It swept over him. Freedom. 

No Thank You

Not me. I was happy for his freedom, deeply grateful actually, but God, don't think you can just pull one over on me like that. That's tacky. Real tacky. 

I'm not giving up on my financial dreams that easily. No way. I fully intend to take care of myself, however I  must do that. 

I felt like Jacob, the guy in the Old Testament who literally gets in a fist fight with God. He fights and fights all through the night and leaves the battlefield with a broken leg in the morning. 

That's me. If you're bringing me somewhere new, asking me to sacrifice, asking me to trust, you are going to do so with me kicking and screaming. 

And it's really quite classy of God to be so gracious. He ought to just give up on me or slap me silly for my attitude problem or leave me to my own devices... but he doesn't. He lovingly pursues me, the one lost, stupid little sheep. He allows me to fight with Him, puts up with my kicking and screaming, pushes back, and patiently waits it out with me. 

It's like Annie fighting to not fall asleep. While I am rocking she will cry, kick, squirm, head butt me, doze off, then snap back awake and do it all over again. Still, I hold her firmly and lovingly in my arms. Eventually, she exhausts herself and passes out. Still, I am there holding her.  And when she wakes up in the morning with her squirrely arms flailing, matted down hair, little eye buggers, and that look that says, "we were not friends last night... " I am there smiling, waiting for her first big grin of the day. 

We all fight. 

Ye of Little Faith

I believe God has a special reserve of energy for people like me. The, Ye of Little Faith, people. 

He does not have to prove himself, but he does. He does not have to communicate in ten million different ways to get our attention, but he does. He certainly doesn't owe me anything, but sometimes he treats me as if He is willing to give me all the love he has and then some. 

Back at camp, day two, the pastor asks us to come out on stage at the end of his message. This is normal. Asking us, in front of 1700 people, to not play music but rather to come and kneel at the front of the stage... that is not normal. 

And what do you know, he said, "I don't think you guys know what a sacrifice it is for these five people on the stage to do what it is that the Lord has called them to do."

There's that word again. I shouldn't have been shocked, but I was. 

"They don't make a lot of money, they often struggle to pay the bills, they go from city to city, hotel to hotel, and now they do that with a little baby and as most moms will tell you, there is always a fair amount of guilt involved when you bring your baby into your craziness." 

He continued explaining, word for word, why what we did was a sacrifice. He names every single thing I had lamented to the Lord, my pastors, my parents, and my husband over the past month. And he finished with saying, "Today I feel compelled to encourage them. To remind them to keep going. To remind them that the Lord has placed a calling on their lives and that He is using them to make his name known."

Then 1700 people prayed with him that we would continue to trust God and follow him where he leads. That we would be renewed and taken care of. That we would be reminded that we were not working in vein. 

That was enough. I was convinced. 

But God wasn't done.

Three more examples.

Very quickly, I must add, that the Lord spoke the same thing to me three more times. Not because he had to, but because he wanted to. God's love is never lacking. He lavishes it on us abundantly. He didn't give me just enough of his love, he gave me every ounce of it. More than I needed. This was no longer about money, this was his love story for me. He cared enough to let me fight with him, to let me kick and scream, and to hold me all the way through until, exhausted, I collapsed into his arms. And when I awoke, he gently whispered, I'm not through holding you yet. Let me show you more love. And more. And more. And more. And more. 

This was his love story for me. 

*In a radio interview later that morning one of the DJ's said she wanted to read a passage of scripture over me that the Lord laid on her heart. 

Of course He did. 

And for the life of me I can't remember what part of Psalms she pulled it from, but it basically said your sacrifice is not in vein, your work for the Lord makes his name known to the nations, so be renewed in your spirit, etc, etc, etc. Need I go on?

*A man came up to me and said he brought a purse to camp because he knew God was going to lay it on his heart to give it to someone. It was made by a ministry overseas in India and he wanted to support the ministry but didn't have a daughter to give the purse to. My purse has holes in it. I've been putting off buying one for months now. God laid it on his heart to give me this brand new quilted clutch. What's more... it looks exactly like me. I couldn't have designed it better myself. A purse. Really? My most specific, petty of needs was provided for? 

Of course it was. 

*The next day the pastor changed his message right before the service, because, he was prompted by God to do so.   

Of course he was. 

I try and read the passage that a speaker will be using during their message, so without thinking I picked up my Bible in between songs and read the new chapter. Psalms 23. So basic that I stopped reading that one in about the seventh grade, I guess it had been years since I had uttered these words out loud. 

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. 

My stomach dropped. I thought I would cry right there on the spot. I wasn't even sure I could finish reading because that one line, there it was, my hearts deepest prayer quietly breaking free from the part of me that was desperately clinging on to the last threads of myself. 

The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not be in want. I shall not want. Jenny, you shall not want. 

I said it again on stage. And again. And with tears streaming down my face, this tired little girl finally opened up her hands and, exhausted, fell into the arms of God. 

And 

and he was there. 

Do I relish sacrifice? No. Not yet. But I do rejoice in a God who is so very real that he would speak the same exact message to me not once, twice, or three times, but six times in one week.  I rejoice in a God who loves me that much, who knows me that intimately, and who fights for me and with me so that ultimately, I will be refined, more beautiful, and grown up in Him. 

So bring it on. 

Because I am ready to trust now that God and God alone will provide for us. 

Ours will be a testimony of God's abundant faithfulness.

And I, his dearly loved daughter, will give him all the glory, honor, and praise. 

  

   

When no one's around...

I feel like I have snuck into the high school computer lab over Christmas break. 

It's dark. Cold. Eerily quiet. And slightly wrong. 

Wrong because it is 6:42 a.m. on a holiday weekend and I have the urge to write while my baby sleeps. 

Very wrong. 

So here I am. You are away on holiday I presume. The lake, the beach, the family picnic, or just blissfully sleeping in and staying around the house all day to piddle. I love piddling. 

There are things I want to get off my chest:

I am strangely attracted to Benjamin Franklin (the alive version). I am pretty sure we would have been social simpaticos; soul mates; and if i was lucky... betrothed. Yep, that's right. I wish I was betrothed to Benjamin Franklin. We both like to sleep late, mingle with the masses, party hard, play hard, occasionally work hard on things that interest us, and we both love board games. OK, he really loved chess. Does that count? 

I'm not saying I am as smart as Ben was. However, I am not convinced he was terribly smart either. He wasn't brilliant; he was bored. This was no Einstein. This was just a man with an abundance of creative energy and a lot of down time. If I lived when he did I would've made the first library club, public hospital, and tongue-in-cheek newspaper too. What else do you do? There are only so many times people get hit by the strange white zig-zags in the sky and kill over before some bored person decides to figure out what they are. Right? 

Right. As an aside, did you know that ole Benny gave one of his many girlfriends' daughters a pet squirrel? He had his wife ship it over from America only to be eaten a year later by the family dog. When the squirrel died the little girl was beside herself and Ben held a funeral for her pet. He put it in a hat box, draped a cloth over it and proceeded to give the eulogy:

"Here skug lies snug as a bug in a rug."

(Benjamin Franklin. Walter Isaacson, p. 258)

Anyways, it's worth noting on the 4th of July that: 

1.) I am particularly fond of the founding fathers and American history. This makes me a dork who has read a bunch of really long books, but I can't help it. 

2.) I am pretty sure Ben and I would've totally hit it off. You only think "Bennifer" is cool now... you should see the 1776 version of us! Heck yea! 

3.) Amidst all the crazies out their in the world today (need I throw in names?), thank God a bunch of men and a few of their very intelligent, supportive wives, fought and fought and fought for the idea of freedom and justice. America is not perfect... but the idea of it pretty much is. And sometimes knowing the ideal is all we need to keep moving, striving, fighting, and hoping for what could be. What should be. The Fourth of July is important. 

Moving On: Weekly confessions. 

I gave Annie to a bunch of strangers this week. We tried bringing her to the movies because she is usually asleep at 7:45 p.m. Not just asleep, but you know, dead to the world. And she is really quite good with loud noises, but just in case, we brought her awesome pink headphones. Anyways, we went with a group of friends to see Public Enemies, and the little thing was wide-eyed and bushy tailed. Her first movie release. So many friends. All the fun. She's just like her mom... it was too much for her, she had to be a part of the action. We made it through the previews and then when the "Please don't interrupt the movie" clip came on with the cell phone ringing and CRYING BABY, as if given a divinely inspired cue, she let out a howl. 

Everyone turned to look at me. We were on the very top row. There were probably 500 people in the theatre. Without thinking I just darted out, down 30 stairs, with 1,000 eyeballs boring a hole into me saying.... You're that lady, the one they're talking about! Get out! Movie ruiner! Horrible, tacky mom! 

I left my purse, the diaper bag, her car seat, and my phone. She was suddenly the inconsolable child. I needed to get a refund and get her out of there. But I couldn't just bring her back into the theatre crying, go back up 30 stairs, down 3o stairs, and have those 1,000 mean eyeballs boring into me. I needed to leave her. 

You can't really just lay a baby down in the theatre lobby for a minute and leave. It's not quite the fire station, but I'm pretty sure security would confiscate her. I thought about leaving her with a uniformed worker, but these were all scary looking adolescents. I thought about borrowing someones cell so I could call Ryan and have him bring us our stuff, but I knew he wouldn't answer a strange number (The thought of text messaging never occurred to me. I know. I am so 1999).  So, I did what any desperate mom would do. Scanned the room for the nicest looking couple and then said, "I know this is strange, but could you please hold my baby for like five minutes?"

It gets worse. After I retrieved her, the mall was closed, except for the restaurants having reverse happy hour. So, with stroller in hand, I parked it on a lounge chaser at the most grown-up of the happy hours I could find (it had garden seating, quiet music, and dimly lit plastic orange chandeliers), ordered a glass of wine, a bowl of bread, kicked my shoes off, gave Annie her bottle, let her fall asleep on my chest, and read the news on my I-phone until the movie let out and my husband and friends came to find me. The kid was at a rated R movie and happy hour all in one night. Heaven forgive me. 

I generally hate movies. Only because there are so many other things I want to be doing that movies fall to the bottom of my priority list. 

So, this was, without a doubt, one of the best nights I've had in months. 

other confessions?

I forget who mentioned that I should use baking soda for blemishes... but I finally got desperate and tried it this week. When Ryan asked what the scary white stuff on my face was I told him I was desperate. To which he replied, "I thought you were desperate two months ago." 

Men. 

The baking soda appears to be working, so don't catch me at night times! I'm not taking any chances on missed spots. I'm basically covering the top half of my body with a box of baking soda, and starting tonight, I might rinse it off with apple cider vinegar for optimal results. Whoever suggested it... thank you! And Queen Latifah, thanks for endorsing it girl! Keepin' it real you rich, famous woman... that's what I like to see! 

Closing Thoughts

Every time I read your comments I am responding to most of you in my head. HeyJade, you and I had a complete conversation the other day after you sent the blog to your mom friends. Kara, when you wrote a few weeks ago after my encounter with the mean lady, I left feeling like you had just given me a big hug. Lisa, isn't it funny that we only met once and we live cross country, but we are friends? When I read Ryan your comments, he says, "who said that?" I answer, "you know, my friend Lisa." "Lisa? I didn't know you had a friend named Lisa." And then I tell him about the concert where we talked forever. 

And Rebecca... I love that you so faithfully leave comments. They make me smile. You are like a little burst of light and encouragement. When we are in Denver next, I would love to see you. And yes, Glorieta was such a throw back, we had a great time. The cabins we used to stay in (where all the poor youth groups stayed... yea... D'Ville in the house) are being demolished. The owner of the camp can't believe we stayed there. I told him people think I'm lying when I tell them Brandi and I heard a bear and basically had to sleep in each other's arms to stay warm... he said he didn't doubt that one bit. Anyways, love hearing from you and keeping up with you and your precious boys. 

See, these are the things I can say when I don't think anyone is reading. If I could, I would go through each one of your comments, respond, tell you my thoughts, and ask you yours. Oh... in a perfect world where I had unlimited time and the pause button like Zack Morris had.  If only I had enough time to be a part of each one of your lives, I would love it. 

Anyways, it is 7:38 a.m. now. I am working out vigorously to lose these final ten baby pounds, but today is a holiday, so now I will drive to the donut store and order a dozen donut holes and some of those little sausage thingy's and I will devour them guiltlessly.  

Ryan and I will lay around all day in our PJ's, watching sports center and The Cosby's, with the little squirrel between us, eat some junk food, and then head out for Annie's second night of fireworks, friends, and family. 

Ahhhhh...

lovin life. 

Happy 4th of July, 

Your friend who is sneaking back out of the dark, cold, computer lab and hopes to hear from you after the holiday! 

 

When no one's around...

I feel like I have snuck into the high school computer lab over Christmas break. 

It's dark. Cold. Eerily quiet. And slightly wrong. 

Wrong because it is 6:42 a.m. on a holiday weekend and I have the urge to write while my baby sleeps. 

Very wrong. 

So here I am. You are away on holiday I presume. The lake, the beach, the family picnic, or just blissfully sleeping in and staying around the house all day to piddle. I love piddling. 

There are things I want to get off my chest:

I am strangely attracted to Benjamin Franklin (the alive version). I am pretty sure we would have been social simpaticos; soul mates; and if i was lucky... betrothed. Yep, that's right. I wish I was betrothed to Benjamin Franklin. We both like to sleep late, mingle with the masses, party hard, play hard, occasionally work hard on things that interest us, and we both love board games. OK, he really loved chess. Does that count? 

I'm not saying I am as smart as Ben was. However, I am not convinced he was terribly smart either. He wasn't brilliant; he was bored. This was no Einstein. This was just a man with an abundance of creative energy and a lot of down time. If I lived when he did I would've made the first library club, public hospital, and tongue-in-cheek newspaper too. What else do you do? There are only so many times people get hit by the strange white zig-zags in the sky and kill over before some bored person decides to figure out what they are. Right? 

Right. As an aside, did you know that ole Benny gave one of his many girlfriends' daughters a pet squirrel? He had his wife ship it over from America only to be eaten a year later by the family dog. When the squirrel died the little girl was beside herself and Ben held a funeral for her pet. He put it in a hat box, draped a cloth over it and proceeded to give the eulogy:

"Here skug lies snug as a bug in a rug."

(Benjamin Franklin. Walter Isaacson, p. 258)

Anyways, it's worth noting on the 4th of July that: 

1.) I am particularly fond of the founding fathers and American history. This makes me a dork who has read a bunch of really long books, but I can't help it. 

2.) I am pretty sure Ben and I would've totally hit it off. You only think "Bennifer" is cool now... you should see the 1776 version of us! Heck yea! 

3.) Amidst all the crazies out their in the world today (need I throw in names?), thank God a bunch of men and a few of their very intelligent, supportive wives, fought and fought and fought for the idea of freedom and justice. America is not perfect... but the idea of it pretty much is. And sometimes knowing the ideal is all we need to keep moving, striving, fighting, and hoping for what could be. What should be. The Fourth of July is important. 

Moving On: Weekly confessions. 

I gave Annie to a bunch of strangers this week. We tried bringing her to the movies because she is usually asleep at 7:45 p.m. Not just asleep, but you know, dead to the world. And she is really quite good with loud noises, but just in case, we brought her awesome pink headphones. Anyways, we went with a group of friends to see Public Enemies, and the little thing was wide-eyed and bushy tailed. Her first movie release. So many friends. All the fun. She's just like her mom... it was too much for her, she had to be a part of the action. We made it through the previews and then when the "Please don't interrupt the movie" clip came on with the cell phone ringing and CRYING BABY, as if given a divinely inspired cue, she let out a howl. 

Everyone turned to look at me. We were on the very top row. There were probably 500 people in the theatre. Without thinking I just darted out, down 30 stairs, with 1,000 eyeballs boring a hole into me saying.... You're that lady, the one they're talking about! Get out! Movie ruiner! Horrible, tacky mom! 

I left my purse, the diaper bag, her car seat, and my phone. She was suddenly the inconsolable child. I needed to get a refund and get her out of there. But I couldn't just bring her back into the theatre crying, go back up 30 stairs, down 3o stairs, and have those 1,000 mean eyeballs boring into me. I needed to leave her. 

You can't really just lay a baby down in the theatre lobby for a minute and leave. It's not quite the fire station, but I'm pretty sure security would confiscate her. I thought about leaving her with a uniformed worker, but these were all scary looking adolescents. I thought about borrowing someones cell so I could call Ryan and have him bring us our stuff, but I knew he wouldn't answer a strange number (The thought of text messaging never occurred to me. I know. I am so 1999).  So, I did what any desperate mom would do. Scanned the room for the nicest looking couple and then said, "I know this is strange, but could you please hold my baby for like five minutes?"

It gets worse. After I retrieved her, the mall was closed, except for the restaurants having reverse happy hour. So, with stroller in hand, I parked it on a lounge chaser at the most grown-up of the happy hours I could find (it had garden seating, quiet music, and dimly lit plastic orange chandeliers), ordered a glass of wine, a bowl of bread, kicked my shoes off, gave Annie her bottle, let her fall asleep on my chest, and read the news on my I-phone until the movie let out and my husband and friends came to find me. The kid was at a rated R movie and happy hour all in one night. Heaven forgive me. 

I generally hate movies. Only because there are so many other things I want to be doing that movies fall to the bottom of my priority list. 

So, this was, without a doubt, one of the best nights I've had in months. 

other confessions?

I forget who mentioned that I should use baking soda for blemishes... but I finally got desperate and tried it this week. When Ryan asked what the scary white stuff on my face was I told him I was desperate. To which he replied, "I thought you were desperate two months ago." 

Men. 

The baking soda appears to be working, so don't catch me at night times! I'm not taking any chances on missed spots. I'm basically covering the top half of my body with a box of baking soda, and starting tonight, I might rinse it off with apple cider vinegar for optimal results. Whoever suggested it... thank you! And Queen Latifah, thanks for endorsing it girl! Keepin' it real you rich, famous woman... that's what I like to see! 

Closing Thoughts

Every time I read your comments I am responding to most of you in my head. HeyJade, you and I had a complete conversation the other day after you sent the blog to your mom friends. Kara, when you wrote a few weeks ago after my encounter with the mean lady, I left feeling like you had just given me a big hug. Lisa, isn't it funny that we only met once and we live cross country, but we are friends? When I read Ryan your comments, he says, "who said that?" I answer, "you know, my friend Lisa." "Lisa? I didn't know you had a friend named Lisa." And then I tell him about the concert where we talked forever. 

And Rebecca... I love that you so faithfully leave comments. They make me smile. You are like a little burst of light and encouragement. When we are in Denver next, I would love to see you. And yes, Glorieta was such a throw back, we had a great time. The cabins we used to stay in (where all the poor youth groups stayed... yea... D'Ville in the house) are being demolished. The owner of the camp can't believe we stayed there. I told him people think I'm lying when I tell them Brandi and I heard a bear and basically had to sleep in each other's arms to stay warm... he said he didn't doubt that one bit. Anyways, love hearing from you and keeping up with you and your precious boys. 

See, these are the things I can say when I don't think anyone is reading. If I could, I would go through each one of your comments, respond, tell you my thoughts, and ask you yours. Oh... in a perfect world where I had unlimited time and the pause button like Zack Morris had.  If only I had enough time to be a part of each one of your lives, I would love it. 

Anyways, it is 7:38 a.m. now. I am working out vigorously to lose these final ten baby pounds, but today is a holiday, so now I will drive to the donut store and order a dozen donut holes and some of those little sausage thingy's and I will devour them guiltlessly.  

Ryan and I will lay around all day in our PJ's, watching sports center and The Cosby's, with the little squirrel between us, eat some junk food, and then head out for Annie's second night of fireworks, friends, and family. 

Ahhhhh...

lovin life. 

Happy 4th of July, 

Your friend who is sneaking back out of the dark, cold, computer lab and hopes to hear from you after the holiday! 

 

Ordinary Time

I washed three loads of laundry today. Loaded the dishwasher, started it, unlocked it quickly to get a bottle, forgot to lock it back, and then Ryan came home and put dirty dishes in after me. 

I started the dishwasher again. 

In a fluke of divine, miraculous intervention I have a little girl who slept not one, but two- five hour stretches last night. We played all day. Baby Tad. Tummy time. Play mat. And read the book "Moo, Baa, La La La" seven times. 

She loves it when I quack like a duck. 

I watched World News with Charlie Gibson and then tried out a baby yoga DVD. I made it five minutes. She is heavy. And totally uninterested. And that downward facing dog thing is hard. 

We had stir-fry for dinner and I had a lean cuisine chicken wonton meal for lunch. I know, you are lusting. I was able to call three people back and two extra people that I just wanted to call for fun. And... yet again, I put off the 7o thank you cards that I have left to write (I have already written 200. Good problem, I know. Still, with each passing day that someone is in the dark about whether I received their gift or not, I feel horribly guilty) and I also put off the 136 e-mails that I need to respond to in my inbox. Slightly behind.  

It is 8:50 p.m. and I am chomping through a box of very bland Chips Ahoy cookies that I bought on the last band trip at a gas station in the middle of no-where Texas. And my little girl is laying beside me, wide eyed, as if she has been sleeping all day. Why isn't she tired? I hope this means she will sleep deeply tonight. 

In about thirty minutes I will brush my teeth with my purple, mushy toothbrush that must be replaced and I will sleep. (With my fingers and toes crossed. A new tradition of wishing good fortune upon myself that works much like a voodoo doll or spell. It's about as effective as a spell too... I've probably had twenty collective hours of sleep in two months. Still, I persist in my incantations).

Quite an ordinary day. 

Plain. Mundane. Ho-hum. Normal. Common. 

Ordinary. 

The church is in the middle of what the Liturgical calendar titles: Ordinary Time. Weeks throughout the year that do not fall during Advent, Christmas, Lent or Easter. 33 or 34 Sundays in all. Surprisingly, ordinary time is the longest season observed by the Christian church. 

Holidays. Holy weeks and seasons. Sacred days. These are rare, though our consumer-driven culture would like for us to base our entire years (and entire salaries) around celebrating these days. They, the holidays, are the exceptions to reality. They are overly dreaded or immensely anticipated. They are adorned with custom, and tied to memories. They are lofty and they ask us, as believers in God, to step out of the normal in order to experience the divine. They are both mystical and magical. They are ushered in by Mardi Gras, Lent, Christmas countdown calenders, and little candles at the front of our churches. They have a way of building us up.  As children they build up our imagination and excitement as we wait anxiously for that one special day.  As adults, some mixture of stress and hopefully holiness collide as we prepare and muddle our way through these holy seasons. 

And then, before we know it, it's gone. 

No more Easter baskets or eggs. No more out of town family or awkward gift exchanges. No more lame work parties or multiple days spent at church. Even the worship experience seems to dramatically climax and then dissipate into an unsettling ordinariness. 

Sometimes I find myself in shock. Almost angry. Now what do I do? I remember as a kid, the end of the "holidays" or "holy seasons" simply meant it was time to restart my countdown clock. As an adult there seems to be a season of disillusionment as I try to reacquaint myself with the real world. Perhaps I am experiencing some of that now as the implications of such a major life change are beginning to wear off and I am finding myself in a normal rhythm again. 

Once again I have to face the truth... 

our lives are lived mostly in the ordinary time. 

Ordinary time is where real life happens. Day in, day out. 

The Irish poet, Thomas Moore, had it right when he said:

 The ordinary acts we practice every day at home are of more importance to the soul than their simplicity might suggest.

Today.

In the midst of laundry, dishes, hours upon hours of playtime, and even in the shower... that's where I lived real life today. And though it was normal, though it was ho-hum, though it was average; it was the very essence of what makes up most of my existence, and probably most of yours. 

Little moments.

I guess sometimes it is tempting to believe that life happens in the big moments; the drama; the holidays and celebrations. No wonder there is a feeling of let-down each year when Christmas and New Years  and other big events have passed; I often live as if they are the pinnacle, the axis to which my year revolves. 

But I am reminded today that this is not the case. 

The sun hitting me in the eye this morning; Anniston's smile when I woke her up and plucked her little body out of bed; the text Ryan sent me to say he just really loves me; the call to my mom so she could sing her little heart out to her granddaughter; the e-mail from my amazing friend Kim with all her responses to my venting paragraphs in blue with smiley faces; the burdened moments of prayer for Bernie Maddoff  (the man who lost his life today because of his horrible decisions); the mourning of another friend lost to cancer; the piecing together of another important business card drown to death in the washer and dryer; asking God for mercy, mercy for those around me and in this hurting world; enjoying a perfect little vine of grapes with my lean cuisine t.v. dinner...

This is where I live real life. At home, in my pajamas. On the road living out of gas stations and hotels. Domesticity and simplicity. Stress and busy schedules. Church and family. Simple thoughts and random prayers. Love and heartache. Mundane and normal. 

Real life happens during ordinary time. 

The question is... do we see it? 

Am I simply waiting for the next big thing and missing the million little parts of each normal day that add up to something holy and beautiful? I don't want to. I don't want to miss real life waiting for big moments. I want to embrace the ordinary. The day in, day out. I want Ordinary Time to make up profound moments and memories on my journey. That is my hope for today. 

What is yours? 

"I am beginning to learn that it is the sweet, simple things of life which are the real ones after all." -Laura Ingalls Wilder